Results 1 - 30 of Discover Book Depository's huge selection of Photo & Image Editing Books online. Free delivery worldwide on over 20 million titles. Discover the best Digital Photo & Video Editing in Best Sellers. Find the top most popular items in site Books Best Sellers. The Adobe Photoshop Lightroom 2 Book for Digital Photographers (Paperback) Demystifying Pro Photo Editing Apps: Learn the Essentials in Snapseed and Perfect (Social Media for Small Businesses Book 2) Photoshop: A Step by Step Ultimate Beginners’ Guide to Mastering Adobe.
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What are the best photo editing books? Find out what our readers think are the best books on photography software like Photoshop, Lightroon, Aperture, NIK. More reference book than training now and again your images can benefit from a little photo editing. Penguin Picture Editor Samantha Johnson discusses the inner-workings of the art department at the famous British publishing house.
A Basic Manual.
Henry Horenstein. Andrew Faulkner. Adobe Photoshop CC for Photographers Martin Evening. Mastering Photoshop Masks: Robin Whalley. Lightroom CC Complete Training: Serge Ramelli. BetterPhoto Basics: Jim Miotke.
Beezix Inc. The Headshot: Peter Hurley. An Introduction to Photographic Lighting. Fil Hunter. Robert Correll. Doug Sahlin. The Flash Book: How to fall hopelessly in love with your flash, and finally start taking the type of images you bought it for in the first place. Adobe Photoshop Elements Classroom in a Book. Jeff Carlson. Studio Anywhere: Nick Fancher. Picture Perfect Lighting: Roberto Valenzuela. Food Photography: From Snapshots to Great Shots 2nd Edition.
Nicole S. Rafael Concepcion. Photoshop CC: Eco-tourism is one of the few potentially clean economic engines for places like the Vjosa, so I wish those warriors well as they fight the powers that be. We currently have a several month backlog, and are particularly interested in submissions from female photographers so we may maintain a balanced program.
Still, doing the same thing, over and over again, will make almost anyone bored. Still, I love to be surprised, to see new things, and to keep it fresh for you, my loyal global audience. So I sat here on my couch, willing myself to be inspired to write.
I closed my eyes, thinking about the feeling of inspiration. The rush of adrenaline as your mind expands in real time. The thrill of looking at things that make you want to create, or travel, or both.
I was studying Photo 1 at the time, and at the encouragement of my professor, Jeff Tomlinson, I headed to the Fine Arts library to look at some photo books. Walking the stacks, creeping around like Inspector Javert, I ran my fingers across the spines in the photo section, cocking my head sideways to read the titles.
It represents the length of this project, and even then, as a pure beginner, I wondered how anyone could sustain that kind of interest in one subject for that long.
These days, I can imagine a Spaniard, around 30 or so, who enjoyed shooting at festivals in her native country, and checked in from time to time over a decade and a half. The consistent surreality of the scenes won me over, and still does. The disbelief that these were real people, in real situations, and not staged fantasies.
Here, in the book, were versions of that before me, only exponentially more intricate. The Baroque nature of Spanish Catholicism was on full display, with crucifixion rituals, baby coffins, and midget bull-fighters.
Little People. I bought the book soon afterwards, at the ICP bookstore in Manhattan, likely 3 or 4 locations back. And even though it remains my favorite photo-book of all time, somehow, in between all the moves…. Luckily, Ms.
Garcia Rodero is a member of Magnum, and they have a digital copy of the entire book on their site , which is a very 21st Century experience. The pictures feel relevant to me in a totally new way, on the day when Michael Cohen is testifying about his former-boss-and-buddy Donald J Trump. Trumpism and Nationalism can be easily mistaken for each other, these days, though I might be generous and declare the latter is at least based on a proper love for the cultures and traditions of a place on Earth.
Trumpism is nothing more than narcissism having an incest baby with geopolitics. All of us. Even our indigenous folks walked in 15, years ago. Our culture is polyglot and hybridic by nature. Many Americans, myself included, are Europhiles, either because their ancestors came from there, or because the allure of age and aesthetics entice us to stare longingly at rituals that make no sense next to Walmart and McDonalds.
The very specificity of place and time that gets annihilated when beanie-wearing-hipsters FaceTime with each other across national borders, giggling at outmoded concepts like local culture while fiddling with their Apple watches. Creative excellence, formal craftsmanship, patience and hard work, and shooting thousands of rolls of film. If you can find a copy of this one, by all means download it.
Or probably anything else of hers you can get your hands on. Truth be told, I feel better now than I did before I found her images online, and reconnected with this marvelous narrative. Ways to better myself. I lost a few friends a couple of years ago, and am pretty sure that gossip-mongering played a role in it.
Not that I take the blame squarely, just that I own my part in it. On steroids. Summoning that negative energy, and spreading it further, even if it feels funny, snarky or cathartic in the moment, has the habit of creating ripples of bad juju. Coincidentally, last week, my Aikido Sensei told the class that he felt he had no enemies in life, and attributed it to the fact that he never talked shit about people.
He even used the same expression I do. Even the fighting part is meant to minimize permanent damage to your opponent. Wrist, hand and elbow locks can temporarily immobilize someone, but they will walk away unharmed, as long as they cooperate. The techniques can be used to tear and break joints too. The truth is, you really never know when your enemy will become your friend, or your friend your enemy.
Therefore, I was pretty surprised when Lawrence emailed me in December of with a link to this Artnet news story about him winning a lawsuit against Gerhard Steidl. I was especially surprised, as it was right around the time that gushing New Yorker piece about Steidl came out, which I referenced here in the column, and this seemed like a wacky tale.
To synopsize, Lawrence Schwartzwald wanted compensation for a submission portfolio that Steidl lost, and accused the famed publisher of backing out of a deal to publish his book.
But I swear, at first, I thought it was a joke. As I did the other day on the ski lift, when my friend Derek started accosting the stranger sitting to my right, with whom we would be trapped for the next 5 minutes.
Never a good time to pick a fight.
Eventually, I opened the book today, in late February, That, and a Kertesz photobook of people reading, inspired him to pursue photography, and he went on to work as a freelance photojournalist for the New York Post for many years. He also did some celebrity freelance photography, which I take to mean paparazzi pictures. But I could be wrong. As everyone and everything are interconnected, a theme in the blog so far this year, I happened to notice a Facebook post Lawrence made the other day, saying that his book was selling well, and he hoped it might be reviewed before it sold out.
A coincidence, like noticing Amy Winehouse at a diner, with her full bee-hive hairdo kicking, and snapping a quick shot.
Which became the cover and signature image. Or spotting Anne Hathaway eating breakfast one morning, or a slightly disheveled Carl Bernstein licking ice cream above a Post headline about the anthrax scare in While there are strong pictures throughout, the image quality is not amazing overall, though of course many of the photographs are sweet, thoughtful, and generally likable.
But with its pretty blue cover, it roped me in again, and this time, I began to think about all photographers, out in the world, who watch others.
Is creeping on a pretty actress THAT different from being out shooting street photography, watching a stranger sit on a stoop, reading quietly? She has the Annie Hall hat on. But in , when the photo was taken, rents in this neighborhood were already exorbitant. Can she afford it on her salary, with her sensible shoes? Or was she out for a walk on a beautiful day, taking her book from stoop to park bench to stair railing, all day following the sun from spot to spot like a luxuriant cat.
You turn away, so as not to arouse her suspicion, and look into the store window before you. I download it for my girlfriend, wait to give it to her, and then am ultimately crestfallen when she hates it. Even now, as I flip back and forth, I notice some really excellent pictures, and some that seem like one-step-above snapshots. There are a lot of down-on-their-luck folks, a lot of happy people immersed in their stories, and one photograph, p 57 in which it appears that a tall man is going to murder an older couple with his book, so menacing is his physical stance relative to theirs.
This book falls somewhere in the middle, for me, as I really like parts of it, and it certainly makes me think, but then, it also feels like it needed a much tighter edit, and a stronger reason for being. Other than a court order. It might not work as a general rule, though, because China is an impressive civilization, for sure. I guess Russia is too, if for Dostoevsky alone. Even the idea of pornography, sexual imagery that is considered illegal for traditional methods of media distribution, is unclear as a category.
Penetration is always porn, but boobs alone rarely are? Female frontal nudity is considered more acceptable than male, and why is that? Safe for work. Rob asked me to run it that way from the beginning, and then was open-minded as I experimented with showing a bit of nudity and light sexual behavior stuff here, years ago.
She said the pictures were erotic, not porn. And there were enough images for me to present that lacked out-right nudity. Another photographer sent me a sample recently that was too hardcore, and I had to politely decline. Nudity is problematic for men these days, and rightly so in my opinion, but what are the rules that apply to female photographers? And as the artist is a woman, the politics align with I should know, because last week, within 24 hours, I found myself put in two potentially neck-crushing choke holds, a rear-naked and a guillotine, and then a proper sleeper hold, in which I woke up on my knees, facing the mat.
We always minimize the risks out there, else how would we leave the house each morning to drive a car, trust the subway, or ski down the hill? Now, how many of us, even those who go to fighting class on a regular basis, would have the peace of mind to get behind the mountain lion, to take its back, and then crush its windpipe and choke it to death, while practically tasting its fur in your mouth.
Now, a story like that is interesting now matter how you tell it. Does our intrepid hippie-mountain-runner-martial-artist-guy get eaten alive, a cougar baby nibbling on his jawbone? Just last week, in this very column, I said that a good book should have a beginning, a middle and an end. This will be a repeating motif within, birds, and while I was OK with it, maybe it did seem a bit obvious.
We start with a smart quote by Bertolt Brecht about singing in the face of darkness, which I took to mean that we need to make our art, to speak our peace, to sing our songs, in particular when we think things are going to shit. And of course many people regard our current situation as a particularly dangerous one, relative to the Post World War II era.
But other than that, the photography is spot on. The portrait of the dog in the muzzle? Impending doom is the same as maybe-not-yet arrived doom. You can feel it coming, but is there still time to affect the outcome? To hope? Mennonite women, a power-company worker at night, more sad portraits, dead-people feet, power washing a building, and then that little girl looking right at you, from the side, like a youngst-century-Mona-Lisa.
Next, another portrait of a guy looking away, behind the hoodie, the birds, and a cold Canadian landscape. The real people, places and incidents portrayed are used fictitiously.
There are narrative waves and repeating motifs that work just as well this way, and even better, you can reverse direction whenever you want.
That books should be made this way. Or that. I got hired as an office intern, was soon promoted to office PA, and then got a second promotion to location assistant. Before I was fired in winter so they could hire a much more qualified person for the job. Because I answered the phones, made the coffee and took out the trash well before shooting, I was around to hear the gossip, pick up on the undercurrents, and generally make myself a part of the furniture.
The strangest thing was, though, that Keanu Reeves was insanely charismatic in person. He would do voices, and crack jokes. Once a day, maybe.
He was really bad. It was odd to see him behave one way IRL, but then freeze up, or shut down, once it was time to do his job. And I had to admit the reputation seemed appropriate.
Seemingly, after that, he went into another fallow period, and got super-into martial arts, so much that he directed a film about a Tai Chi fighter, and acted in an awful Japanese sci-fi Samurai film that ended in mass Seppuku. And what about that amazing personality of his? Photo books, of course, the subject of this long-running column, rely heavily on context. The way a photo book releases its information, teases out its narrative, and gives you what you need to know is as important, in my opinion, as the pictures themselves.
In fact, I was just talking with a book-designer-friend about the fact that even the number of pictures included will determine if a viewer looks at a book in one sitting, ingesting the entire message, or flips through a few pages, puts it down, and then picks it up another time and does the same thing.
Think of a photo book as a story, with a beginning, middle and an end, and the whole process makes more sense. Unless you love non-sensical, non-linear video art, in which case, go crazy and make whatever weird shit you see in your head. Let me say it again here folks, outreach is necessary to make change. It opens with a short statement in which the artist admits to having contemplated suicide, almost calling a hotline for help, before abandoning the idea.
The writing is immediately followed by a series of bleak-light pictures featuring things hidden, covered, wilting, and alone. There are more textual interruptions, each very-well-written, which share that the artist was estranged for her adopted mother for years, but now she visits her in a home for the aging and demented, as her mom no longer knows who she is.
We read a story about how her Dad is likely lonely, living on his own in a new home, and how he visits his wife each day. The story tells us that his own mother married her rapist, and that the family history is not happy in general. Obligatory intellectual street cred established. Back before the internet, you learned about a country from International Day at school, it was a thing, the Encyclopedia Britannica, or from whatever heritage pride your neighbors exhibited.
Discovering Volvos and then Saabs was a way of understanding that there were other places in the world, far from New Jersey, that made cars with different shapes and features. The Swedes, apparently, were safety-conscious. Our cars may have gone from oversized hunks of metal with no seat belts to computers that do everything while we sit there numbed out on Spotify and Sirius radio, but their main purpose is still the same: Other places, though, cities with good public transportation and ubiquitous Ubers, can make car ownership seem a bit silly these days.
So say the Millennials. When I lived in Brooklyn, early this century, I had my trusty old Chevy Blazer, but almost never used it in daily life. I guess lots of people in Brooklyn park their cars and forget about them.
Forlorn, alone, these pieces of vehicular sculpture await the observant passer-by who might ogle the proper Datsun, GTO, or Camaro. Orange Crush. Yellow Betty. British Blue. The Undertaker. Blue Velvet.
Zebra Benz. Super Bee. Or the regular use of multiple image panels to break up the narrative, in addition to a few short quote pages, including this one by Jonathan Ive: When I turned the book over, I discovered a Dean Johnson bio on the back cover. Now that I think about it, the severe, geometric, modernist compositions are definitely a nod to Scandinavian design, and probably help the book stick the landing.
An army of icicles hangs off my roof, each a menacing, translucent dagger that could impale a person without trying too hard. Ironically, our weather patterns have little to do with what happens in our part of the Great American West.
Our mountains, rivers, ravens, cougars, and humans have nothing to do with it at all. Rather, the temperature of ocean water in the Pacific, thousands of miles away, determines whether it snows like crazy, as it is this year, or nothing drops from the sky at all.
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